


Weight

by Humbae



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22226200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbae/pseuds/Humbae
Summary: A landslide interrupts Geralt and Jaskier's hunt for a monster in the mountains. This time, it's up to Jaskier to get them out of trouble.
Comments: 102
Kudos: 630





	1. Chapter 1

“Roach is not a mountain goat.”

“Of course not, I’m just saying that we have a lot of gear to carry, and these hills are steep,” Jaskier said, indicating the mountains rising beyond the road. They had been climbing all day, and they hadn’t even reached the first proper peak yet. They hadn’t even left the road leading to the mountain. Jaskier was exhausted already.

Geralt grunted and picked up the bag of supplies Jaskier was carrying on his back and tossed it over his shoulder. The added weight did nothing to slow his brisk pace.

“I didn’t invite you along.”

“I appear where I’m needed. It would be criminal to let your exploits pass by unnoticed with no song to celebrate the heroic deeds. I am happy to offer my services and bring joy to the people.”

“Sore ears is what you bring.”

“How many bards can say,” Jaskier continued, as if Geralt had not spoken, “that they were there when a solitary mountain rotfiend was brought down, and not lie? I’m doing valuable work recording the details in verse.”

Geralt said nothing and continued walking up the hill. He was carrying food and water for a week in addition to his weapons and tent and other adventuring gear. Jaskier brought up the rear with his lute in hand, occasionally playing a note when they hit a more level stretch of the road. He didn’t have the breath to spare for singing, but his mind was already working on the song about this trip. The town shadowed by the mountain was small, but the villagers were scared enough of the rotfiend that was persistently roaming the area to have pooled their funds together to hire a witcher to help them get rid of it. Their sheep and cattle and errant children had disappeared into its greedy maw at night, leaving nothing but bloody bones behind. The tragedy set a perfect base for an epic song. Jaskier could almost see the shocked maidens clutching their bosoms as he would sing of the demise of the babes. And the men would gasp in awe when he’d reach the part where Geralt dealt with the monster.

“Isn’t it time to stop for the night? We’ll tumble down the mountain if we try to go much further.”

“The sun’s still high. We have hours of daylight left.”

“Well yes, but it takes time to find a cozy campsite. You’ll have to put up the tent too.”

Geralt grunted and continued walking. Jaskier followed, but his speed was starting to drop. They could’ve happily ridden as far as the road continued. By his reckoning, they’d reach the proper mountains late on the following day. Surely a horse could’ve fended for itself while they ascended to the parts where no hooves could follow. But Jaskier had a strong enough sense of self-preservation to not say anything to Geralt. The man was strangely attached to his horse. There was a ballad waiting to happen there, but Jaskier would save it until he hit a dry spell with the heroics.

They kept walking until the sun tickled the tallest peaks of the mountains on the horizon. Geralt stopped on a small ledge that was barely large enough for his tent. Jaskier wouldn’t have called it a good site, but he trusted Geralt to know better with matters concerning survival. Jaskier did plenty of travelling himself too, but he couldn’t compete with decades of rough living in the wild. If given the choice, he would always go for the soft bed and the warm hearth.

“Move,” Geralt said, prompting Jaskier to hop aside lest he be run through with a tent pole. He sat down on a nearby rock and watched Geralt put up the tent with speed that came from experience. He wondered how many times the witcher had bothered with the tent when he was alone, or was it exclusively for when he had a human travelling with him. The enhanced endurance must be nice. Jaskier sometimes found himself envious of Geralt’s body, but then his eyes would fall on a visible scar and he’d reconsider. Geralt wasn’t strong for himself. He was created to keep others safe. No matter how brusque he could be with his manners, his sense of duty and protectiveness never wavered.

“The road was rough, the mountains massive, but the witcher he went, and… does anything rhyme with massive? Geralt, how would you describe your manner of walking?”

“Silent.”

“Dum dum dum, he was not just passing? No, or maybe. Dee dee, his silent steps. Not bad, I think we’re getting somewhere. Is dinner ready yet?”

The look Geralt gave him could’ve felled a tree. Jaskier returned to strumming his lute, unfazed by the dour face. Geralt would never say so, but Jaskier suspected he enjoyed listening to his chattering. At least he had never actually left Jaskier behind, despite threatening to do so in every village. The road must get lonely when you travelled incessantly. Jaskier couldn’t imagine allowing a year to pass with no meaningful human connection, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Geralt had experienced such during his wanderings. Horses might be good company, but they couldn’t fill the silence.

“Mine is,” Geralt said and grabbed a piece of jerky. Jaskier left his rock and approached Geralt in order to pilfer some of his dried meat. Geralt growled at him, but didn’t stop him. In Jaskier’s reckoning, that was as good as permission.

“Thank you for this most generous offering. I shall sing you a lullaby to demonstrate my gratitude.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

They ate their meal mostly in silence. Jaskier made good of his promise and played a gentle tune after they crawled into the tent and settled down on their bedrolls. To his amazement, Geralt gave little protest to his song, and actually drifted off to sleep while he was still playing. They had decided against keeping watch since nothing else but the rotfiend would be hunting in the mountains. Jaskier had learned to trust in Geralt’s senses. If the rotfiend would approach, the witcher would wake to its overpowering stench long before it could become a threat to them. Jaskier put down his lute and slept soundly, knowing he was safe as long as his more or less reluctant bodyguard was around.

*****

The following day passed with the dull monotone of travel. The sceneries were breathtaking, but Jaskier had to focus on where he was stepping lest he tumble down the now proper mountain. They had left the foothills and ascended beyond the road, walking along a game trail or over barren rocks. Geralt was convinced that the rotfiend would hunt in the vicinity. If it had chosen to live on the mountain, which was quite unusual behaviour for it, it must be relatively intelligent and either scrape by with the carcasses it found, or actively hunt.

“What is the world coming to, when corpse eaters start hunting? Will fish start flying next or striga raising kittens? I think --”

Jaskier was interrupted by a strong hand grabbing the back of his jacket and pulling him backwards. Before he could protest the rough handling, he noticed the danger he had narrowly avoided: the rock he had almost stepped on was teetering on the edge of a chasm, hidden from view by a dry bush. Jaskier pressed a hand against his chest, as if to try to prevent his racing heart from jumping out.

“Follow me,” Geralt said and took the lead. Jaskier straightened his fine silk jacket and took a few deep breaths. A single step could’ve taken him to his death. Although his life had gotten much more dangerous since he’d started tagging along with the witcher, he was still relatively unused to escaping certain doom on a daily basis. He would prefer not to show how shaken he was, but he knew trying to hide it was futile with Geralt. He could probably smell his fear or something similar.

“You know, this is a rather hazardous path. Are you sure the rotfiend would come this far if it plagues the village?”

“They do not tire like humans. Its smell is all over here.”

“Charming. Can your nose tell how far from us it is right now? I’d rather not be surprised by its sudden appearance.”

“Not near,” was all Geralt offered in response. Jaskier wondered if he could actually locate the creature by its smell, or if he was teasing him.

“One day, we should test your senses. I could take a bad fish and leave it somewhere in a forest, and see if you can go straight to it. Like a bloodhound! Do you ever get hired to track something?”

“Are you actually incapable of keeping your mouth shut for any meaningful length of time?”

“Why would I?”

Geralt said nothing and kept on walking. Jaskier could swear he quickened his pace out of spite. Before he could say anything, Geralt grunted in alarm, and disappeared in a cloud of dust and noise.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted. He wanted to rush closer to see what had happened, but he remained frozen in place, instinct taking over. The rumbling and the dust, and the way the sound grew more distant hinted at a rockslide. Jaskier dared not move a single inch in fear of setting off the stones under his feet. He waited, coughing and hoping that only a couple of bigger boulders had fallen down and that Geralt would be right below him, ready to climb back up.

After the dust settled and silence reigned once again, Jaskier approached the edge carefully. The path in front of him where Geralt had been mere moments ago was missing. As he peeked over the edge, he saw that a good chunk of the mountain had slid down, leaving a wide gap in the ridge they had been walking on.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, too scared to shout. “Are you there?”

There was a pile of rubble below him. Nothing within it moved. The distance down wasn’t impossibly far, but too far for an average human to have survived such a fall. Jaskier hung his hope on Geralt being anything but average. He examined the boulders and rocks and dirt as best he could from his higher perch. He saw no sign of white hair or black armour.

“Geralt!”

*****

Jaskier stood where he was for a long moment. Wind scattered the last of the airborne dust particles over the landscape. Jaskier could hear nothing over his own harsh breathing. He had two choices, if standing still until he collapsed wasn’t counted as an option. He could turn around and start the long journey back down the mountain with no supplies. Geralt had been carrying everything, even Jaskier’s personal belongings, excluding his lute. Thus there really was no choice but to take option two: climb down to the pile of rocks and dig out Geralt and their supplies. Jaskier clung to the hope that his friend had survived the avalanche, but every moment he lingered the hope waned.

Steeling himself to what may await him at the bottom, Jaskier put down his lute and started looking for a path down. He kept away from where the mountain side had collapsed, backtracking a bit to what he could only hope was a safe area. The climb down was arduous, even more so since he did it in silence. He couldn’t complain to Geralt about how difficult finding a place for his foot was, or how badly his calves burned from holding his weight on the slope. He couldn’t share the frightening moments when a shower of pebbles loosened under his boot, or the triumph of holding his footing when his hands couldn’t find a grip. But worse of all was knowing that Geralt was either dead or too hurt to move. Jaskier called for him, but no answer came back.

The rubble had piled up in a small dip between two mountain peaks. There was a tiny stream at the bottom, appearing from under rock and disappearing over the edge. Jaskier rushed to it and kneeled down to sate his thirst first, then he looked where the water flowed. The drop was sheer and impossibly high. Jaskier quickly retreated from the edge and turned towards the mess behind him. Geralt was somewhere there under all the rocks and dirt, but he didn’t know where to even start.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted, as loud as he could. Still no answer. Geralt was most likely unconscious then, if he was still alive.

“Come on, give me some kind of a sign, I need a direction.” Jaskier waited, listening to the wind. It sounded louder here than it had at the top of the ridge. The tiny valley between the mountains had no shelter, allowing the sun to shine unobstructed, reflecting off the narrow stream and --

“I see it! Thank you, I see it!” Jaskier ran to the bright spot on the ground. No rock could give off that sort of glare, it had to be something they brought with them. When Jaskier dropped on his knees next to it, he saw that it was Geralt’s silver sword, the smooth blade peeking out from under the rubble. Jaskier grasped it carefully and pulled, but the sword wouldn’t budge.

“Of course this cannot be easy. Fine, I shall dig you out. I don’t know how, but I will succeed.”

Jaskier studied the pile of rocks and tested their weight. The sword was trapped under the edge of a rectangular boulder. It would require all of his strength and a little bit more, but if he could flip the stone over, he would release the sword and find out if any of Geralt’s other gear would be hidden beneath it too. Considering how badly jammed the thin blade was dimmed Jaskier’s hope, but he refused to acknowledge it. He would concentrate only on the task at hand, working to free the sword, nothing else mattered now.

“Geralt? If you’re under there, now would be the most opportune moment to let me know.”

Since there was no response, Jaskier placed his hands under the edge of the boulder and lifted. He strained his muscles to their limit, grunting with the effort, but the rock wouldn’t budge. Panting hard, he looked at it again. He had estimated it to be quite a bit lighter, within reason for him to lift. The problem became apparent when he climbed on the neighbouring boulder and looked behind his rock: another rock lay on top of it, and that in turn was trapped in place by yet another rock.

“Are you kidding me?” Jaskier shouted and pulled his hair with both fists. As he moved his head, his eyes happened upon the sky. He couldn’t see the sun. It was already behind the tallest peak on the horizon, soon to disappear entirely. Jaskier had accomplished nothing, and he was about to lose the light to work in.

Filled with new urgency, he climbed to the top rock that was trapping the rock he needed to move in order to free the sword, and he pushed it. He expected great resistance and used his full strength, only to topple over when the rock slid free with little trouble. Not waiting to see where it landed, he tackled the next rock in the pile, needing a bit more effort to move it, but succeeding. He hopped down to try to lift the rectangular stone again, moaning when his muscles burned with the strain. The rock rose, painfully slowly, and Jaskier leaned against it with his entire body, pushing on the boulder behind him with his legs, going nearly horizontal before he reached the critical point and the rock fell over with a dull boom.

Jaskier panted and coughed in the cloud of dust the boulder raised. When he could see again, he noticed the sword and reached for it with arms that were trembling after the exertion. With great effort, he picked it up and tossed it closer to the stream. He was desperately thirsty, but first he wanted to study the cavity the boulder had revealed while there was still some light remaining.

Dropping on all fours to get in, Jaskier frowned in the dimness. He could barely make out the larger rocks, and the flat ground. At the back of the space, halfway buried under the large boulder that made up the wall, he saw a lump that didn’t look like a rock. Jaskier crawled closer. It could be one of their bags. He reached for it with his shaking hand and encountered something warm.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted, nearly jumping up in his surprise. He couldn’t really see, but he felt grimy hair and stubbly cheek. He brought his fingers up to his nose and took a whiff. As he had expected, the smell of blood was strong enough even for him to pick up. With growing fear, he held his fingers in front of Geralt’s nose and waited. It was barely there, but he felt the warm breath.

“Oh thank the lords and little dragons, you’re alive!”

Jaskier’s joy was short-lived. He felt along Geralt’s body, encountering the large boulder much too soon. He couldn’t reach far, the space was too tight for that, but he could confirm that Geralt was stuck, pinned under the rubble from waist down. And he had a head injury bad enough to have left him unconscious for a considerable length of time. Jaskier leaned against the wall and rubbed his filthy hands over his face.

“Fuck!”


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier left the tiny cave made of rubble and shuffled to the stream to drink. He had no food, no means to build a fire, and no light. It would’ve been easy to sink into despondency, but he decided to count his blessings instead. He was perfectly functional, he had Geralt’s sword -- as soon as he’d pick it up -- and his friend was still alive. The situation was dire, but it was far from desperate. He could work with that.

Plunging his hands into the stream, Jaskier splashed some water on his face, gasping at the coldness. The silent solitude of the mountain could’ve been beautiful in other circumstances. He heard nothing move but the wind, saw no one else in the darkness, couldn’t even smell anything. Had he been one to yearn for isolation, the ledge could’ve been a perfect spot to pitch a tent. Feeling better, Jaskier stood up and headed back towards the cave. He picked up the sword on the way, surprised at how heavy it felt.

“Alright Geralt, I’m going to get you out of there. My spirits sank momentarily, but I shall endure. Just think of the story I can tell: Jaskier -- the humble bard -- saved the mighty Geralt of Rivia. Of course, first I must actually save you, but how hard can it be? I shall wait for daylight and then start deconstructing this lovely shelter we have.”

He crawled into the small space and sat as close to Geralt as he could. The night in the mountains was cold and Jaskier’s jacket was flashy, not well insulated. They’d have to share their heat. Geralt’s armour had protected him in the landslide, but now it blocked them from each other. Jaskier pulled it off, trying to move Geralt as little as possible, and laid his head down on his shirt-covered back. He could hear the unusual heartbeat against his ear, slow but steady. He closed his eyes and allowed the gentle rocking of Geralt’s body lull him to sleep. As long as he kept drawing another breath and releasing it, Jaskier knew he was alive.

Their peace did not last long. Jaskier felt like he had just fallen asleep when a furious howl pulled him into full wakefulness. He felt around the ground for the sword he had put down somewhere nearby. He wasn’t proficient with it, but it was a weapon and he at least knew which end to point towards enemies.

He waited with his heart pounding, but nothing approached them. He was starting to relax when the howl repeated, sounding further away. Jaskier had never encountered a rotfiend before and didn’t know if they had a habit of roaring at their prey. If it was their scare tactic, it was efficient. He waited for a long while, sword at the ready, but he heard nothing else. The stars were bright outside but the moon was nowhere to be seen. Jaskier could’ve used a drink to ease his dry throat, but he didn’t dare go to the stream. He’d be fully exposed, and the starlight wasn’t adequate that he’d feel confident he wouldn’t fall off the edge in the dark.

“Let’s just take what rest we can,” he said to Geralt’s unconscious form. He retook his position, glad for the warmth radiating off his friend. Jaskier was shivering not just from the cold, and the steady presence of Geralt soothed him.

“I hope you’re not too badly wounded. Is there a limit to what a witcher can recover from? Is permanent brain damage possible for you? I’d rather we didn’t find out. Please be okay in the morning.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, certain that sleep would not come, but the stress of the night and the physical exertion of the day had taken their toll and he dropped as soon as he found a comfortable position, feeling Geralt’s ribs expand and deflate beneath his head.

*****

The sun rose behind clouds, promising a bleak and chilly day. Jaskier woke up and needed a moment to remember where he was. The steady thump under his ear assured him that Geralt was still alive. He crawled closer to the entrance, stiff muscles protesting the movement, and turned around to look at his friend.

“Morning. You feel like joining me today?” There was no response, but in the light of morning, Jaskier could see Geralt’s face. It was slack in unconsciousness, mouth partially open. He appeared unharmed, apart from the blood drenching his hair. Jaskier felt around for a wound, finding a bump and a cut at the back of his head.

“Sorry, I can’t do anything for you. I can’t even clean the wound, though I guess infection is one of the lesser worries right now. If you don’t wake up…”

Jaskier didn’t want to think about a future where they both died on the ledge between the mountains. Instead, he focused on his plan for the day, trying to wipe everything else from his mind. He went to the stream, washed Geralt’s blood off his hands, drank his fill, and splashed some ice-cold water on his face. Then he turned to the pile of rocks and dirt. Just like the first rock he had worked free, the large one pinning Geralt was interlaced in a system of rocks that had a clear structure. He just needed to find the top one and start unravelling from there. But as he studied the pile, his heart sank. There were so many rocks, piling up high, following the slope of the mountain. He couldn’t climb to the top and start there, he’d have to move half a mountain. There had to be a simpler solution, a key rock that he could move. He also hadn’t seen the true size of the rock resting on Geralt. He could only hope that his strength would be sufficient to dislodge it.

“The things I do for you,” he said, making his voice carry to Geralt inside the cave-like structure. “This had better result in a song so epic I shall be showered with coins whenever I bless a crowd with it.”

Jaskier climbed higher on the pile, pushing the topmost rocks off whenever he could. Some slid off easily, others wouldn’t budge. He revealed new crevices amongst the dirt, peeking into each one in the hopes of finding their gear. For the better part of the morning, he had no luck. Nearing midday, he pushed a large flat stone off the pile and almost fell when it revealed a hole beneath it. He peered inside and was delighted to see into their cave.

“Hey Geralt! I’m finally on the right track! We may escape yet!”

The witcher remained still. Jaskier sat for a moment, feeling the pointlessness of his efforts. How could he -- a humble bard of no physical prowess -- hope to ever untangle the pile of rocks in time. The sun had climbed high behind the clouds and Jaskier’s stomach clenched painfully in its empty state. He hopped down from his perch and went to the stream. He drank until the water sloshed uncomfortably in his belly. At least they had a source of fresh water.

“Wait! Good grief Jaskier, you’re an idiot!” He tore off a strip from his shirt and dunked it in the water. Holding it in his cupped palms, he hurried to the cave.

“You absolute thoughtless moron,” he muttered to himself as he crawled inside, holding his hands awkwardly in front of him and using his elbows to advance.

“All this water to drink, and you haven’t given him a single drop!”

He reached Geralt and slipped a corner of the soaked cloth in his mouth.

“Come on, suck. You must remember what it was like to be a babe.”

Nothing happened. Jaskier felt the walls of the cave come closer, threatening to crush him under their weight. His chest felt uncomfortably tight, as if his shirt had suddenly shrunk. Was Geralt so far gone he was beyond saving? Jaskier’s brain wanted to follow the line of thinking, but he slapped himself on the side of the head and focused. Squeezing the cloth, he managed to get some water in Geralt’s mouth, and he pushed his jaw up to seal his lips. By some miraculous instinct, Geralt swallowed. Not pausing to celebrate, Jaskier repeated the process until he couldn’t wring anything out of the cloth. He returned to the stream and brought back more, successfully getting a fair amount of liquid in his friend.

“Phew, this is a part we shall not discuss. My song shall definitely skip such oversights. Now back to work.” Jaskier patted Geralt on the head and left again. He climbed the pile and peeked through the hole, nearly blinding himself when the sun hit the sword lying on the ground. Jaskier turned around, noting that the sun had moved past its zenith and would soon start its slow descent. And he hadn’t advanced much at all.

With renewed urgency, he started pushing off the rocks closest to the hole. He worked for hours before he managed to make any perceivable progress, but when he did, it was significant. He picked up a round stone and tossed it down, watching it roll right off the edge of the cliff. He didn’t wait to hear the crash of it eventually hitting the ground but turned back to his work with his full focus. When he looked through the hole again, he saw the top of the boulder trapping Geralt. His joy was dampened by the realisation of how huge it was. There was no way he would be able to move it. And it was so large he considered it highly unlikely that Geralt’s body could’ve withstood its weight.

“Your legs are minced meat, aren’t they?” he said, feeling a prickling in his eyes. “Witcher stew, that’s what’s for dinner tonight.”

Jaskier blinked and felt tears roll down his grimy cheeks. His mouth kept working against the burning in his throat, listing ways to cook his friend, barely able to talk but still the words came unbridled. If he stopped talking, he would have to face the reality. Geralt was as good as dead, and he would follow him, having no hope of finding his way down the mountain with absolutely nothing.

“And for dessert,” Jaskier paused to sniff, blinking more tears out of his eyes, “there shall be whipped cream and peaches, just on the side of overripe, very soft. Would you like that?”

He climbed down from the pile and into the cave. He was desperately thirsty but he saw no point in sating it. He would only prolong his inevitable death.

“Do you like strawberries? Of course you do, who doesn’t like strawberries. I had my first kiss in a field of strawberries. His lips were stained red with the --”

Jaskier stopped talking. Had he heard a grunt?

“Geralt?” he asked and leaned closer. The light was dim in the cave, but he could make out the grimace on Geralt’s face. Heart suddenly pounding in his chest, he gently squeezed his friend’s shoulder.

“Geralt, can you hear me?”

“Hnngh.”

“Come on, talk to me. Can you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“Yeah.” It was weak, frighteningly so, but it proved he was coherent.

“Can you tell how badly you’re hurt?”

“I’ll heal,” Geralt whispered. Jaskier smiled and rolled his eyes. Geralt was definitely himself.

“I certainly hope so, but you won’t be healing under this rock. Can you move your legs?” Jaskier waited for the answer. Would Geralt be able to tell if he had no legs?

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? This rock is pretty darn massive.”

“Legs fine. Weight on back.”

“Ohhh! There must be a cranny under the rock. It hasn’t flattened you!” Jaskier slumped against the wall. “Our problem remains though.”

“Whuh?” Geralt’s voice faded from the whisper it had been. Jaskier tried not to worry. He was just tired from talking. He was not actively dying.

“We still need to get you out of there.”

*****

Jaskier continued pushing the rocks and dirt off the large one trapping Geralt. In the morning he had been performing his task in silence, feeling forlorn, but now he occasionally talked to Geralt, partially to make sure he was still alive and alert, and partially to alleviate his own loneliness by sharing the experience. Geralt didn’t often reply to him, but it helped Jaskier to know someone was listening. The rocks even felt lighter, although his arms were trembling with the effort of moving them. He was not used to such hard labour, and his fingers were bleeding in several places at the end of the day. His optimism remained though.

“How’re you doing?” he shouted down the hole. He had managed to widen it considerably, allowing enough of the fading light to fall on Geralt that he could still see him.

“Off,” Geralt grunted. Jaskier had listened to enough of his guttural communication to recognise that this grunt was laced with pain.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked and looked around. He wasn’t standing on the rock pinning Geralt, and he had removed several other rocks from on top of and around it. If anything, Geralt should be feeling less weight on his back.

“Move!”

Jaskier did so by leaping down from the pile. As he left the rock he had been on, he felt it give a bit. He turned to look at the mass of rubble and noticed a distinct wobble. Eyes widening, he quickly rushed into the cave, hearing a deep rumble. He shielded Geralt’s upper body with his own, waiting for the rocks to crush them.

A few pebbles rained on his head. The rumble settled. Nothing major had moved. Jaskier smiled cautiously and looked down on Geralt. He was drenched in sweat and panting quickly. Jaskier’s smile fell.

“Geralt, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

Geralt barely managed to push the words out. “Big rock’s moved. Off my back, broke my legs.”

“What?! How can you just calmly tell me such things! Fuck’s sake Geralt, what do I do?” Jaskier stood up and reached for the big boulder. He almost pushed it, but his brain engaged in time. He lowered his hands and tried to think. Geralt was gritting his teeth and squeezing his hands into tight fists, in evident agony. He had to act fast, but he didn’t know how he had managed to shift the rock into worse position. If he tried to roll it forwards, it would crush Geralt’s head, and there was no space to move it to either side or backwards.

“Damn it, what do I do?” Jaskier asked, close to tears. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes and rushed out again. The sun was going down, taking the light with it. Soon they’d be in darkness again, and the clouds promised there would be even less starlight than on the previous night. Jaskier couldn’t leave Geralt in the state he was in, such prolonged agony could kill even a witcher, but he didn’t know how to help.

Jaskier shouted as loud as he could, his voice echoing off the mountain sides, amplifying his anguish. A small stone rolled off the top of the pile and past him, disappearing over the edge of the cliff. He walked as close as he dared and looked. The drop made his head spin and he had to quickly sit down to keep from following the stone. For a fleeting moment, his brain suggested he should just jump after it, save himself the agony of witnessing Geralt’s slow, painful death, before he’d starve and die himself.

“Jaskier, your friend is in a lot of pain in there, and you’re out here feeling sorry for yourself? I am disappointed in you. Do something!”

His self-motivation helped. He closed his ears to the swift panting and occasional grunts coming from Geralt and he climbed the pile again. Somewhere, there had been a crucial rock, the removal of which had allowed the big boulder to shift. If he continued in that direction, he would hopefully eventually get the weight fully off Geralt. It might crush his legs on the way, but the enhanced healing would hopefully take care of that in due time. Jaskier just needed to be strong and get it done as fast as possible, and ignore the pain he was inadvertently causing.

“Geralt, are you still alive?” he shouted after he’d tossed another rock off. No reply. “I shall assume you are.”

He returned to the task, now more difficult since he couldn’t see well anymore. The sun had gone down and the stars were hidden by the clouds, with no sign of the moon again. Jaskier felt his way with his bleeding fingers, trusting that he would notice any great holes or drops if such were to appear. He paused only to take occasional drinks from the stream, bringing some water back for Geralt as well. The witcher was unconscious again, but alive. That was good enough.

Jaskier worked until he physically couldn’t get the rocks to move anymore. His arms trembled and his legs felt like jelly. He wanted to continue, but he recognised that his body wouldn’t allow any more without rest. He went to drink, dragging his feet on the way to and back from the stream, too tired to bring any back for Geralt, and curled up next to his friend, this time not putting his weight on him. As much as Jaskier yearned for the contact and the added warmth, he couldn’t add to Geralt’s pain. He did stroke his back with his hand though, feeling how taut the muscles were, trembling slightly.

“I’ll get you out. Just hang in there,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if Geralt could hear him, but he thought he felt him nod slightly. “I’ll just rest for a moment, then I’ll continue. Just hold on.”

Jaskier didn’t slide into sleep gently, rather his exhausted body plummeted like a rock to the bottom of a lake. He fell so deep that when someone shook him and hissed at him, it was but a nuisance he could ignore. But when that someone grabbed his hair and pulled hard enough to jerk his head, he blinked his eyes open, fully alert.

“What? Geralt?”

“Rotfiend’s here,” Geralt panted. He was still trembling and sweat was pouring off his face, but there was a new vigour in him. He had his elbows braced against the ground, as if he was trying to push himself off.

Jaskier’s eyes widened. The silver sword was lying next to him and he grabbed it, feeling the hefty weight. He almost handed it to Geralt, but stopped himself. This was something he had to take care of. Geralt was in no condition or position to defend himself, never mind defending Jaskier too.

“How do I kill it?” he asked in a low voice.

“Cut off,” Geralt paused to breathe, “head.” He might’ve been ready to slay the beast himself, but he had no strength to do it.

“Okay. No big deal. I can absolutely do that, not a problem,” Jaskier babbled. His heart was pounding so hard he shook with it. “How close is it?”

“Here,” was all Geralt said. Jaskier crawled out of the enclosure, and came face to face with a rotting corpse on two legs.

He squealed and rolled to the side, narrowly missing a giant meaty paw swatting at him. He found his feet and ran to the other side of the ledge, hopping over the stream and running until he hit the side of the mountain. He had nowhere to go. Walls surrounded them on each side, and the one open side led to a steep fall.

“Come here, you smelly bastard!” Jaskier shouted. He needn’t have. The beast was coming for him, much faster than he had expected. He held the sword with both hands, arms nearly buckling from the weight. He had seconds to decide what to do before the monster would reach him.

“Your smell could kill a chicken!” he shouted and jumped to the side at the last moment before impact. The beast didn’t slow its speed in time and smacked against the rock wall. Not hard enough to stun itself, but Jaskier got an idea. He slapped the beast with the flat of the blade and ran away, panting so hard he couldn’t hear weather it followed him or not. He would assume it was right at his heels. He tried to push more speed out of his weary legs, jumping over the stream again and heading towards the other end of the area. Darkness hid all the irregularities on the ground, and Jaskier prayed he wouldn’t fall. He went past the cave and reached the other wall, turning to see where the rotfiend was. It had stopped some distance away, observing the situation.

“Giving up so easily? Are you as stupid as you look?” Jaskier shouted while slowly circling towards the edge of the cliff. He held the sword high, waving it a bit in the air.

“Come taste my silver, or are you too scared?”

The rotfiend made no move. Jaskier could feel sweat trickling into his eyes despite the coldness of the night. His plan hinged on the monster blindly rushing after him as it had before, but if it wouldn’t, he’d have to rethink. Or go get it himself.

“Come on, you ugly bastard! Here I am, a tender meal, a sweet bard who’s never worked a day in his life! Prime meat right here, come get it!”

Jaskier must not have made a convincing threat or an enticing meal. The rotfiend ignored him and started lumbering towards the cave.

“Oh no you don’t!” Jaskier shouted and ran after the monster. He reached it before it could get its filthy hands on Geralt. Jaskier pushed the silver blade in its back and retreated without retracting the weapon. The beast howled and turned around, reaching for Jaskier. He hopped back but did not go further. He could run faster without the sword weighing him down, but he needed to get the rotfiend to follow.

“Ugly beast, smelling bad,” Jaskier started to sing in his most annoying nasal pitch. “Too stupid to live, too dumb to die. What is it?”

Despite Geralt’s criticism of the quality of his singing, Jaskier had never expected it to lure monsters. But the rotfiend focused solely on him now, as if mesmerised by the melody. Jaskier continued insulting it in a singsong voice, while slowly walking backwards towards the edge. When his toes encountered nothing, he stopped moving but continued singing.

“The ballad of the ugly beast, come here, join our feast. It is too stupid to live, but hey ho, come and see it.”

Jaskier stopped singing, and the beast pounced. In a move that would’ve made the most nimble cat envious, Jaskier rolled to the side just as the rotfiend jumped, narrowly missing its claws. He watched from the ground as the monster slid over the edge, disappearing in a cloud of bad smell. Not trusting his luck, Jaskier peered over the edge, just in time to hear the fiend hit the bottom so far down that he could not see it in the darkness of the night.

“The end,” he sighed, needing a moment to lie on the ground and just breathe in the crisp air.

After his shakes started to subside, Jaskier picked himself up and walked to the cave on legs that threatened to buckle on each step. He wanted to share his tale of heroism, but Geralt was out again. With a tired chuckle, Jaskier sank to the ground and curled up against Geralt’s head, cushioning his friend’s forehead on his stomach. The weight felt good, and Jaskier started petting Geralt’s hair without any thought. He eventually calmed down with the repetitive motion and fell asleep with his hand still entangled in Geralt’s bloody hair.


	3. Chapter 3

When the orange glory of the rising sun reflecting on the clouds above him woke him up, Jaskier genuinely thought he wouldn’t be able to get up. His muscles had stiffened during the night, twinging in pain with even the smallest movement. He groaned softly, trying to gather the willpower to sit up.

“Morning,” Geralt whispered. Jaskier flinched and looked down. Geralt’s head was still resting on his stomach, tired yellow eyes looking at him. The dark smudges under them spoke of a night with little rest. His cheeks appeared sunken too, and the lines of pain etched on his forehead were pronounced. His breathing sounded better though.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Jaskier asked as he started extricating himself. When he lifted Geralt’s head and set it down on his outstretched arm, he felt no resistance from the witcher.

“You needed the rest,” he whispered. Jaskier would count it as a miracle if Geralt lasted one more day.

“I’m afraid I can’t deny that, but still, you can’t be comfortable stuck there. I shall make haste.”

Geralt gave no response. He closed his eyes and shuddered. Jaskier hurried to the stream. The lack of food was taxing his strength, but at least he could keep himself hydrated. He wetted the strip of cloth again and brought it to Geralt.

“Ugh, what’s that?” Geralt asked after he’d sucked all the moisture from it. The small amount of water seemed to have revived him a bit.

“My shirt.”

“Disgusting,” Geralt grumbled.

“Well excuse me for not bringing your highness water in a golden goblet. In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t exactly any other options, unless you’d prefer my shoe. Or directly from my mouth. That can be arranged too.”

“Sorry,” Geralt muttered. Jaskier’s eyes widened.

“Okay, now I know you’re dying. The great Geralt of Rivia, apologising to a measly bard? Things must be worse than I thought.”

“I mean it,” Geralt said, speaking quietly but with iron in his voice. “You’re taking caring of someone who can’t do it himself. You even managed to get rid of a monster on your own. That shows true witcher spirit.”

Many would’ve considered Geralt’s words an insult, being compared to a witcher. Jaskier took them as the compliment he knew they were. With reddened cheeks, he fussed with his trousers, tightening the drawstring. He picked up the strip of cloth again.

“You want more water? You didn’t drink that much.”

Geralt shook his head minutely without opening his eyes. Speaking seemed to have tired him. Sweat was starting to gather on his brow again and he trembled visibly. Jaskier bit his teeth together and climbed back on top of the pile of rocks. In the daylight, he could see the progress he had made in the dark. It wasn’t as pitiful as he’d feared, but he was still far from having enough space to roll the big boulder off Geralt. If he could even manage it. For every rock he threw away from behind the boulder, three new seemed to slide in its place, accompanied by a bucketful of dirt. The pile wasn’t lessening as much as it was moving. And all the while, time was running out for Geralt. And Jaskier. His efficiency had dropped considerably. Rocks that he should be able to pick up and throw away he could only barely push off the pile. He had used a lot of his time and waning strength following his strategy, but now he was starting to suspect it had all been in vain.

“Think, Jaskier. You have made some space for the rock. Not enough to fully roll it off, but what else can you do? What else is there to do when you can’t go all the way?”

“Half-ass it,” came the quiet reply. Jaskier jumped, not having realised he had spoken out loud. He looked down the hole. Geralt couldn’t bend enough in his position to look back at him, but he was awake.

“What do you mean?” he asked, but Geralt offered no reply. Jaskier turned back to looking at the big boulder. There was a little bit of space under it. Geralt had initially said that his legs hadn’t been crushed, so the boulder wasn’t round. It would have an outcrop, and a cavity somewhere on its other side, or other irregular shapes at the bottom that he couldn’t see. Now it was resting on Geralt’s legs, but…

“I got it!” Jaskier shouted, jumping up in his excitement. “I don’t need to roll off the entire thing, that is impossible! I just need to wedge it up enough to slip you free! Why did I not see this sooner!”

Jaskier hopped down in search of materials. Geralt’s sword would’ve been perfect for leverage, but it was at the bottom of the ravine, still lodged in the rotfiend’s back. After they survived this adventure, Geralt could go retrieve it himself if he wanted it back, Jaskier refused to take responsibility for the lost weapon. He looked through the pile of rubble, trying to find a tree trunk or something long. Coming up empty-handed, he collected flat, slender rocks instead. He would pile them under the boulder, and somehow lift the weight enough off Geralt that he could pull him out.

“Your laziness may just save us,” Jaskier declared as he crawled inside the enclosure. His excitement over the new plan overrode the ache in his muscles, giving him a fresh burst of energy. Geralt watched him with barely open eyes, head cushioned on his arm where Jaskier had left it. “I’ll just stack these here, and then hopefully start wedging more under it, this will work, it has to.”

Jaskier placed his stones next to Geralt’s waist, where he evaluated the boulder to be the farthest off the ground. He returned twice to gather more rocks, each time checking the position of the sun. There was still plenty of daylight left. If all went well, they could be on their way back down the mountain by evening. Giddy with excitement and hope, Jaskier continued his task, not paying much attention to Geralt.

“Okay, this is it. Can you help me lift the boulder? I just need to slip one more rock in place, then I think we can get you out. Geralt?”

Jaskier turned to look at him. Geralt was so still that for a heart-stopping moment Jaskier thought he was dead. Then he took a breath, and Jaskier huffed in relief.

“Don’t scare me like that. You can’t give up now, not when we’re so close to getting you out. Come on, this is it.” Jaskier shook Geralt’s shoulder, prompting him to slowly reach consciousness.

“Hi. Think you could use your muscles or witcher powers or something to nudge this boulder up just a teeny weeny bit? That’s all I need, just a little lift so I can slip this last rock into place.”

Geralt nodded. He closed his eyes and appeared to be gathering his remaining strength. Jaskier waited, rock in hands. When the spell hit, his surprise cost him a second before he sprung into action. He slipped the rock on top of the stack and withdrew his fingers just in time for the boulder to land back into place. The space beneath it had widened. Geralt went limp after his exertion, but Jaskier took his hands and pulled. At first, there was no give, but after a stronger tug, he felt him move. Sitting on the ground and pulling with all his might, Jaskier managed to slide Geralt loose and out of the cave.

“We did it! I can’t believe it, we did it!” Jaskier shouted in celebration. When he turned towards Geralt, he grew sombre. The boulder had hidden the damage, and he’d have to remove Geralt’s pants to see the full extent, but even through the black leather he could see how misshapen the legs were. Geralt wouldn’t be walking anywhere anytime soon.

“I’ll bring you to the water. Try not to die on the way,” Jaskier said, only half-joking. He rolled Geralt onto his back and grabbed him under the arms, making sure the head was supported on his chest, and lifted. Jaskier’s back gave a painful twinge as he pulled. Geralt was built solid as a rock, and Jaskier was weakened from lack of food and excessive manual labour. He kept advancing though, grimacing as Geralt’s injured legs dragged along the ground.

“Must you be such a heavy lump of muscles,” Jaskier huffed. He reached their destination and carefully laid Geralt flat, despite wanting to drop his dead weight from his aching arms. He washed his hands in the stream after drinking, and approached Geralt in order to pull off his boots and reveal the full extent of the damage.

“This is not a good sign,” he said when fresh blood followed the footwear. He didn’t have a knife but Geralt’s pants were so torn he could just rip them open along the legs. What he revealed as he moved the material aside made him shudder and regret looking. Geralt’s legs were fine from thighs to knees, but below Jaskier could see bones peeking through torn skin, accompanied by an alarming amount of blood.

“How am I supposed to put this back together? Geralt, can you really recover from this?”

No answer. Jaskier hadn’t really expected any. But he was at a loss of what to do. As an immediate action, he cupped some water in his hands and brought it to Geralt. He drank, probably not fully conscious, but aware enough to swallow reflexively.

“Well that’s a start. Stay alive. Let’s not make the kind of ballad where the hero dies at the end.”

They had some daylight left, but Jaskier was tired. He lay down next to Geralt, pushing into his side. Now that he had no more rocks to move, he was starting to feel the coldness of the wind. Maybe it had been stupid to move them from the shelter to the bare rock, but at least they were close to the water.

“Please don’t let me wake up next to a corpse,” Jaskier whispered as sleep started to overtake him. He also fleetingly hoped that the rotfiend didn’t have any friends. If it did, they would probably be eaten long before they had warning. He wasn’t sure if it would be a bad thing.

*****

Jaskier woke up with a warm weight stifling him. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and tried to orient himself. His face was full of something itchy that tried to enter his mouth, and he could barely draw breath with something heavy laying on him. He pushed it aside and sat up, eliciting a grunt in response. Oh. Sometime during the night, Geralt had rolled on top of him and stayed there. With him gone, Jaskier shuddered.

“Morning. Feeling more lively today?” he asked. Geralt looked at him through his filthy hair, not making a move to get up.

“I’ll live,” he said, still speaking quietly but above a whisper now. Jaskier considered it progress.

“Can you actually heal from all that damage?” Jaskier asked and waved his hand in the general direction of Geralt’s legs. “And at what kind of pace?”

“If I had my potions. You didn’t see my bag, did you?”

“What do you mean _if_? I thought you said you’d heal from this! And no, I didn’t see your purse.”

Geralt looked away. Jaskier sat silently, his spirits sinking. Faced with the possibility that everything he’d done might still be in vain left him reeling.

“Right. So our next task becomes clear. If potions and magical healing won’t come to you, we must go to them.”

Geralt rolled over to look at Jaskier, wincing in pain as his legs shifted. “And how will we accomplish that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I shall carry you.”

“With those strings you call arms?”

“These strings just dug you out from that impossibly high pile of rubble. Respect my strings. And yes, I will do it, what other choice do we have?”

“You could go for help,” Geralt suggested. “Or just move on.”

Jaskier’s witty response died on his lips. Did Geralt really think so little of him to believe he would leave his friend behind? Was their friendship so insignificant to Geralt that he’d toss it away? As Jaskier looked into Geralt’s eyes, he understood the truth. It was the opposite. Geralt cared so much he didn’t want Jaskier to risk his own life trying to save his.

“You stubborn, over-protective fool. I’ve invested too much of my talent in you to allow my story-generating witcher to die. You’re coming with me, and my song of it will be glorious. Come on, drink your fill, we’re leaving immediately.”

“I still don’t see how you’re planning to carry me.”

“Insignificant details. I’ll figure something out.”

“Is there even a path off this plateau?”

“I said I’ll figure it out. Now shut up and drink.”

Jaskier leaned closer to the stream and dunked his face in the freezing water. As he was getting back up, the pebbles under his left hand came loose and he had to balance himself on his arms to keep from falling over. And there it was, his idea. It was a children's game and it might not work, but he had nothing else to offer.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, voice sombre enough to draw his companion’s attention. “How badly off are you really? And don’t just wave me off, I need to know.”

Geralt didn’t reply, but his gaze was directed downwards, as if he was really thinking about the question.

“I don’t think I’ll recover without magical intervention. I’m not going to walk out of here.”

“Not on your legs anyway,” Jaskier said. When Geralt looked at him with a frown, he grinned. “This will sound insane, but it might just work. What if you walked on your hands instead?”

“Those marbles you claim I keep losing, I think you’ve dropped a few from your own pouch.”

“I’m serious. Dead serious, in fact. Your arms are uninjured and we’re at the point where we either climb down or die. And I’d really rather not die. I know you have reserves of strength within you that humans can only dream of. Besides, I’ll help you. I can’t carry you, but I can support you. Like the game children play, wheelbarrow walk.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Geralt said and fell silent. Jaskier gave him time to think about it, to weigh his options and capability. In the silence, his thoughts turned to his lute. His hands hurt from working with the rocks, but the music would’ve soothed him. And the wood of the instrument would’ve made good splints for Geralt’s legs. But alas, he had left the lute at the top of the ridge, and he couldn’t justify going after it, nor did he have the strength to spare for such a feat.

While he waited for Geralt to reach the same conclusion he had, Jaskier climbed the pile of rubble again, this time not focusing on the rocks, but on the surroundings. He followed the path down from the ridge that he had descended with his eyes, trying to see how difficult it would be to climb up, and if it would lead to a less steep part of the mountain where they could get down. He’d rather not go up a single step if they didn’t need to, since their goal was to descend. He saw a small ridge to the west, behind which he assumed would be the way down.

“Did you find a path?” Geralt asked. He was leaning on one elbow, looking rather pitiful on the ground. Jaskier hoped he was committed to trying everything he could to survive. He didn’t think he could watch the witcher give up.

“I think so. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Geralt said. Jaskier hopped down from the rocks and took off his jacket. Geralt looked at him with his brows scrunched, but Jaskier didn’t stop to explain. He ripped the fine silk lining from his jacket and tore it to strips. A look of understanding lit Geralt’s eyes and he arranged his legs for easier access. Jaskier tried to close his ears to the pained grunts coming from Geralt as he wrapped his legs as well as he could with the makeshift bandages. He didn’t have much material to work with, but enough to cover the open wounds. After he slipped the boots back on for further protection, Geralt was flat on his back and breathing hard.

“We should have several hours of daylight left,” Jaskier noted after a while. Geralt nodded. He didn’t look ready to go. They both drank as much as they comfortably could, and Geralt rolled onto his stomach. Jaskier stood between his legs, slipped his hands under his thighs, and lifted. Holding the weight of the witcher was a struggle, but once Geralt managed to push himself up on his hands and balance there, the burden eased a little bit. Jaskier could still feel the burn in his muscles, and his back protested the slouched position.

“On we go,” he said, trying not to sound as out of breath as he was.

“This is undignified,” Geralt growled.

“Really Geralt, vanity at a moment like this, when your life depends on it? Start moving, let’s see if this even works.”

It did. Geralt was stronger than a pair of oxen -- and at least twice as stubborn -- and even in his weakened condition he managed to move himself onwards. Jaskier tried to keep a decent distance at first, but since he couldn’t grip the ankles, it was easier to ram his lower abdomen into Geralt’s bottom and support him there in addition to holding with his hands. Geralt muttered curses as he went, and Jaskier was glad he couldn’t see his smile. If Geralt was strong enough to be difficult, he must be doing alright.

Their first hurdle was the near-vertical path leading up to the ridge. Jaskier worried that it would stop them before they got properly started, but Geralt pulled himself up at a furious speed. Jaskier held him up as far as he could, lifting the witcher over his head and pushing him along once he reached the top. He seemed to struggle more himself climbing with all four limbs intact.

“You used some anti-gravity spell, admit it,” Jaskier said once he reached the top. Geralt was lying on his side, eyes closed and panting harshly.

“Ready to move along?” Jaskier asked after the silence stretched. He’d prefer to get a little bit further before nightfall, at least far enough that they couldn’t still see the site of the landslide.

“Sure you don’t want to go ahead by yourself?” Geralt asked. His voice sounded small. Not quiet, but hesitant. As if he thought Jaskier would leave him.

“I told you, we’re in this together. Now get up, we’re wasting daylight.”

They continued trudging along. Jaskier couldn’t believe they were actually making good progress. He worried that Geralt was burning through his absolute last reserves, as he himself felt like he was doing. Thus, he was hesitant to stop when the sun started descending, wanting to keep up their momentum while they could, but he would not be able to see in the dark if they got another cloudy, moonless night.

“We should stop,” Jaskier said. His arms were trembling with the effort of holding Geralt up, and his back hurt so badly he seriously doubted he would get himself upright again if he laid down on the ground.

“No,” Geralt said in a husky whisper. He had barely said two words during their trip, pretty much limited to ‘not bad’ in response to Jaskier wrapping his hands in the material of his ever-dwindling jacket. Even with the padding, Geralt was leaving bloody handprints behind on the rocky ground.

“Your wolfy eyes might work in the dark, but mine don’t. I’d rather we didn’t fall off a cliff.”

“I’ll guide,” Geralt said.

“Are you sure you can keep going?”

“Must,” Geralt said and pulled Jaskier along. Had their positions been reversed, Geralt could’ve carried Jaskier all the way down in one hand with the other holding a big boulder for balance. But injured as he was, he would eventually run out of strength. Jaskier could only hope they’d be somewhere close to the road when it happened.

*****

They kept going for most of the night. Jaskier was floating somewhere in a painful haze between full awareness and sleepwalking. His body hurt all over, being pushed beyond what should’ve been possible. But still he kept moving, not once having loosened his grip. Geralt fell on occasion, but incredibly, he kept picking himself up. Until the early hours of the morning, when he collapsed for the final time.

Jaskier stood still for a long moment before his exhausted mind registered that he wasn’t moving anymore. He called Geralt’s name, but received no reply. Carefully, he set the legs down and went around to examine the situation. Geralt was out, and wouldn’t rouse even after vigorous shaking.

“Right. He’s done. Up to me now. What do I do?”

Jaskier looked around. Without his notice, the landscape had changed from the barren mountaintop to the greener foothills. There were small trees and some underbrush. As Jaskier studied the trees, a new idea came to his mind. The ground wasn’t smooth, but in relative terms, it wasn’t overly uneven either. He stripped his jacket off and pulled the remaining cloth to strips. He set them on Geralt’s back for safekeeping and approached the nearest copse of trees. He was no carpenter, but constructing a simple travois should be within his reach.

“If only you could see me now,” he said to Geralt’s unconscious form. “I’m actually doing something worthy of a song. Not observing other people doing something, but taking action myself. Is this what heroes feel like? Tired, sore, and a little bit smug?”

He bound the longest trees together at one end and fitted a shorter branch between them to form a triangle. He added as many cross beams as he had material to bind them with, which amounted to two. Emboldened by his success, he tried to bodily lift Geralt onto his creation, only to find that he genuinely could not pick him up.

“Glad you’re not awake for this,” Jaskier said and rolled Geralt along the ground until he was on the makeshift pull-sled. He tore a couple of strips off Geralt’s shirt and used them to secure him to the longest trees. Making sure that his feet wouldn’t drag on the ground, Jaskier declared himself ready. Just the small task of pulling his friend down a mountain awaited him.

“Never again will I tolerate you suggesting I should leave you behind,” Jaskier said. He picked up the handles and started pulling. He didn’t know how his body kept going, but slowly, he advanced. The downwards slope helped him, though every rock along the way tried to hinder his progress. He hadn’t seen the road, and in the darkness, he’d probably miss it even if he walked right by it. Undaunted, Jaskier kept walking, sweat pouring down his forehead.

He walked until the sun started colouring the sky a lighter shade of blue. Songbirds joined him at dawn, giving hope that he was getting closer to a forest and further down the mountain. When he saw a trail of smoke in the air, he needed a long moment of staring at it before he understood the significance. Smoke meant fire, and fire meant people. He couldn’t estimate the distance, but the sign of their salvation gave him a boost of energy.

“Look Geralt, smoke! I am so ready for breakfast,” Jaskier said. His voice was hoarse after walking so long without a drop of water. “Maybe it’s sausage, or meat pie, or juicy apples. Oh, how I would love a fish or even a stale roll of bread. And water. Or ale. Anything to wet the throat. Ah, the songs I shall sing!”

Jaskier’s mood stayed elevated for the better part of an hour. The terrain grew more flat, increasing the drag of his cargo. The trail of smoke didn’t appear to get any closer. Despite his optimism, Jaskier’s strength started to wane. He had gone further than he’d ever thought himself capable of, but his body had reached its limit. Geralt hadn’t grown heavier, but suddenly Jaskier couldn’t get him to move anymore. He fell to his knees, utterly spent.

“No,” he whispered. The smoke appeared so close now, but still he saw no house or campfire through the trees blocking his view. He leaned back, knocking his head against Geralt’s.

“How pathetic is this? We do the impossible, and the final stretch defeats us. Just a few more steps to salvation, and I can’t do it. I’m sorry, Geralt. I failed you.”

Jaskier could feel the warmth of Geralt’s skin against his head. He could also smell the dried blood in his hair, and hear his laboured breathing. His eyes closed on their own accord, and he started slipping into sleep. His mind tried to cling to awareness, battling his exhaustion, but it was losing. A sound demanded his attention, but he was too tired to mind it. Until it was right on top of him.

“Hello? Are you two alright?”

*****

Jaskier woke up warm and comfortable. The smell of toasting bread carried to his nose, eliciting an eager growl from his stomach. He was reluctant to rise though. Over the last few days, his muscles had slowly improved, but they still ached when he got up in the morning. Merala told him to stretch them regularly, but he was uninspired to get to it yet.

She had found them in the forest and taken them in. Jaskier didn’t know the details, but he suspected magic was heavily involved. The elderly hermit mage avoided the nearby village, but she had no qualms over keeping Jaskier and Geralt in her hut.

“Just get up and come eat,” she said, startling Jaskier. He could hear the smile in her voice.

“Must I?” he replied.

“I can’t guarantee there’ll be anything left if your friend wakes up first.”

That got Jaskier moving. Geralt had gone into some sort of healing mode, eating like a beast in the morning and sleeping the rest of the day and night. Not that Jaskier had accomplished anything more sensible in the few days they had spent at Merala’s house, but at least he kept her company while lying in bed.

“I really can’t thank you enough for saving us,” he said as he accepted the steaming mug of tea she offered.

“I wouldn’t hear any of it anyway. Besides, I’ve always found it useful to be on the good side of a witcher.”

“Still, I appreciate the help. I will sing of you one day.”

Merala laughed at that, but in a kind manner.

“That shall be my reward, to be immortalised in a song. Now eat while it’s hot,” she said and indicated the porridge and bread she had laid out on the small table. Jaskier needed no more prompting, devouring his meal faster than was good for his digestion.

After breakfast, he went back to lying in bed, while Merala left to go visit the market. Jaskier dozed for a bit, being in no hurry to go anywhere. When he woke up again and wanted to stretch his legs, he walked over to Geralt’s bed by the opposite wall. He appeared to be fast asleep, so Jaskier sat down next to him on the bed and looked out through the window. If their misadventure had taught him anything, it was that he had chosen wisely in following Geralt. Not only for the stories he would tell, but for the ones he never would. The fear he had felt when he thought he’d lose Geralt, it had cut him much deeper than he would’ve expected.

“How did you become so important to me?” he asked Geralt’s still form. He wouldn’t be able to speak the words when Geralt was awake, but now he deemed it safe to examine his heart. “I’ve had good friends before, but the thought of never being able to be in your presence again is more terrifying than facing a thousand rotfiends. You’d probably think me silly, but I just… feel good when I’m with you. Even when you’re being a total ass towards me.”

Jaskier brushed a strand of hair off Geralt’s forehead. He still felt feverish, but not as hot as he initially had. He would survive, as unlikely as it had seemed. Jaskier ran his hand along Geralt’s head before turning to face the window fully. He looked at the overcast sky, not noticing the smile on Geralt’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I acknowledge that I’ve taken some generous liberties with physics, witcher anatomy, and plain common sense, but I hope I can be forgiven.


End file.
